


The Sanctity of Baking Bread, and Other Minor Patterns.

by Sketoon



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 01:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17653598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sketoon/pseuds/Sketoon
Summary: The day before Samot's arrival at The Last University, as experienced by Lem King and Emmanuel Aracia La Salle.Made as part of secret Samol 2018.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supersinger472](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersinger472/gifts).



 

Under cruel and darkened skies, winds rain-flecked

By autumn. A chill carried by the air.

Then a sudden halt, strange cause to reflect:   

On warmth, thoughts of tenderness and of care.

And so I walk this city’s streets, and pass

Many crowded places, streets, lives to find

A quiet storefront, with well frosted glass;

Where I embrace warmth, leaving cold air behind.

 

Bouquets of spring flowers, roar of the hearth,

Golden light, and skillful hands at work on

that sustenance, life giving, of such worth

That it did give pause, desire, to linger long.

And yet I walk this city’s streets, this night

And fix my conscience on that sole delight.

 

_‘Sonnet for a Bakehouse’_

_From The Collected Poems of Tristero Vol. III_


	2. Chapter 2

EMMANUEL ARACIA LA SALLE woke before dawn. He rose, washed, and dressed; all carefully so  
as not to disturb the other man still sound asleep in bed. He then descended the stairs from  
the small apartment, carefully avoiding the third and eighth step, a candle in hand. He  
wasn’t worried about the creaking of the stairs disturbing anyone else - Lem King was best  
described as a soft sleeper yet a deep one, when it came to sleeping in a proper bed - but  
more for his own sake, as the loud sound startled him more than anyone else.  
Additionally it had now become routine, a strange ritual of its own,  
and having been with Lem for several months now, Emmanuel  
understood the importance of strange rituals.

Heading outside Emmanuel was struck by three things. The first was the heat: years  
of winter meant that morning air, though eye-watering, had been invigorating, but the heat  
was another heavy blanket much harder to throw off. The second was the humidity: the  
thick stone walls of the university buildings (and perhaps some lingering enchantments from  
the students) kept a lot of the moisture at bay if not much of the warmth, and stepping into the  
early morning air was like stepping into a warm bath fully clothed. It must have rained during the night,  
as the grass behind the bakery was slick with dew. The third thing was the smell of flowering plants,  
the strange pollen on the night air was so full and fragrant that Emmanuel felt almost dizzy.  
He took a moment to brace himself, then carefully unlocked the wooden door to the small  
brick building he was using to store wood for the oven. The wood was, as he expected,  
damp to the touch. Emmanuel loaded his arms up with wood and headed back into  
the shop, accompanied by the sounds of a hundred hidden birds starting to sing.

Whilst the wood was drying, Emmanuel dusted the ashes from the stove, scrubbed  
the countertops and - when the wood still wasn’t dry - mopped the floors, and began setting down  
chairs and arranging tables. Through the large glass front windows, he watched the sky begin to lighten.  
There were lights moving slow along the perimeter wall, maybe the last dregs of a late watch, or night hunters  
returning with spoils from the forest. There were other lights in the central tower, where servants worked,   
where generals plotted into the small hours, where guards took meals. Smoke rose from the chimneys of other  
businesses that started work in the small hours, the tanneries, the smithies, other bakeries. The wood was well dry  
by now, and Emmanuel set to building a fire, with tinder strike adding to the smoke drifting over the rooftops  
of The Last University.


	3. Chapter 3

WHEN LEM KING HAD ARRIVED at The University, Emmanuel decided he had the right to feel a little cold.  
Although he was glad to see Lem was alive, had missed him certainly, ten years was a long time and it  
was hard to believe Lord Ephrim’s story that he had “fallen through a mirror.” The Winter had been difficult,  
and grieving made it more so. To say that Emmanuel hadn’t sought the company of other warm bodies  
in that time would not be untrue and did not make him a bad person. But when Lem finally found him,  
working on a farm on the outskirts of the university, Emmanuel’s joy had been tempered by experience,  
by ten years of hardship.

After being left twice he would not be surprised if the archivist left him a third time, but Emmanuel  
made his offer, made his case. He was actually surprised when Lem reciprocated, embracing him,  
promising that he would stay, apologising. Surprised enough to begin to weep. Emmanuel in his heart  
knew Lem would not stay forever, because the world was too big to stay on the other side of the front door,  
but this was enough. For now, this was enough. With some of the gold Lem had made on his travels they  
purchased a small, ruined bakehouse within the grounds of the former University campus and spent the rest rebuilding it.  
Timber beams had to be replaced, the second story had partially collapsed, rotted furniture had to be removed.  
Lem had helped supplement the construction by working in the Orcish trading post on the other side of town,  
and Emmanuel used the last of what he had saved working on the farm, they had even managed to call in a favour  
from Hadrian, who was in the middle of building his own house. It had been a difficult few weeks, and Emmanuel’s heart  
had still only just begun to thaw, but eventually even the grasp of winter slipped, and it lost its final handhold in the chest of a baker.


	4. Chapter 4

EMMANUEL WAS FOLDING AIR through the second batch of bread dough as the first batch proved,  
when he heard the creak of the third step as Lem came downstairs. He was clearly still half asleep: hair messy and loose,  
bleary eyes half closed to light. Thankfully he had remembered to put on a shirt, as the large front windows of the bakery  
had no blinds or curtains, but it didn’t stop Emmanuel from blushing when he saw him come downstairs. When Lem caught  
his eyes Emmanuel quickly turned back and began working the bread again, red in the face. The first batch had been wholemeal  
sourdough, and the flour had been a little gritty for Emmanuel’s liking. Unlike the industrial mills of Nacre or the windmills of Rosemerrow,  
the small watermills down by the river were able to keep up with the demands of the growing city yet, and so flour was of mixed quality.  
As Emmanuel worried over flour, Lem slid the kettle over the fire on a metal poker and yawned.  
Lem didn’t need to be up this early but he often felt obliged to help. He then leant over  
and kissed Emmanuel’s cheek, and Emmanuel felt his heart flutter.

        “Hey, good morning.” Lem murmured.

        “Good morning sleepyhead.” Emmanuel had to stifle a yawn of his own.  
        He had been working for a few hours now, and the sun was just starting to creep above the horizon.  
        “Did you sleep well?”

        “Well…” Lem took a second to think it over “I had a dream and I think it was about… well I was playing in an orchestra,  
        except all the other performers were Stars… and Hella was the conductor except she was using her sword instead of a baton-”

Emmanuel reached over and kissed him, floury hands clutching his shirt, briefly, tenderly letting go. The kettle began to whistle.  
Smiling, Emmanuel stroked his partner’s cheek with his thumb, leaving another trace of flour, before pushing past to make some tea.  
Lem stood there, bemused.

        “But the weirdest thing was I was playing the guitar.” He finished.


	5. Chapter 5

BREAKFAST WAS A COMPLICATED AFFAIR. Reams of smoked meats, thin slices of cheese,  
large greasy fried eggs on the toasted remains of yesterday’s trade had to be eaten quickly  
and neatly before the shop could open properly. While this was the rule in theory,  
it failed to stop animated conversation from happening.

        “Probably the best post I was assigned was when I was helping catalogue the books containing   
        illustrations of wildflowers, there were some fascinating old texts, but the pattern that they were needed for got discontinued…”

        “... and on summer days when the weather was just so, there would be a boat race along the inside   
        of the harbour. It wasn’t long but it was like a relay, or like a marathon I guess, and they always flew bright flags from the sails…”

        “... and he _ate_ it? Like I know Fero doesn’t have to eat, and at the time I didn’t think to ask   
        and we haven’t really been able to hang out recently, but I can’t believe he _ate…_ ”

        “... I met him once.”

        Lem paused with a mouthful of egg and ham, struggled to swallow it, and stared at Emmanuel.

        ‘You met him? Tristero?”

        “Yeah, I mean, I know he was like the king-”

        “He was a _God_ Emmanuel, _a God-_ ”

        “Well you've met God too and you don’t see me being so incredulous. Also, actually, you’ve met _two_ Gods, Lem king,   
        not that I’m keeping score but you can hardly act so surprised.”

        “But he’s, he was, you know, God of-” Lem tried and failed to mime ‘Death’ with his hands, “Death.”

        “Well, yes, but you wouldn't know it.”

        “Was he scary?”

        “No, no. Well, intimidating, he had a presence. Tall and dark and whatnot. If you met Adelaide, Blessed by the Far Sea,   
        then you know something of what he was like. He went on long walks through Nacre all the time, back in the day.   
        Lots of people were friendly with him, too. He never went anywhere with any guards, I don’t think.”   
        Emmanuel studied his tea, frowning. “He was a bit of a flaneur I think, wrote a lot, brooded a lot too.   
        In that regard he was pretty different from his heirs.”

        “When did you meet him?”

        “I was fairly young, about fourteen, I’d say. Maybe fifteen. It wasn’t a particularly special encounter, he just came into the shop.   
        My mother ran the bakery back then and she served him, gave him a cup of tea. Cold day, I remember.   
        He was very polite, sat by the window. He ordered Pain du Casa and a braided loaf with raisins and icing,   
        and when he finished his tea he got up, took his bread and left.”

        “How… wait if you were fourteen at the time…”

        “It was a while back, my dear,” Emmanuel couldn’t help but let a smile play upon his face,   
        “I might have roguish charm and dashing good looks but I’m not as young as I seem.”

        “Right… sorry.” Lem lapsed into silence, and Emmanuel felt the question pulling at the air,   
        wanting to be asked but not wanting to be rude, so he answered it.

        “There was a plague, many years ago. When Tristero was killed by The Abdicator-”

        “Captain Calhoun.”

        “-as you knew him. There had been one when tristero had first isolated Nacre before the erasure,   
        many of the best doctors in Nacre had been out in the wider world, in Marielda, Rosemerrow, even Velas,   
        so it was difficult to treat. A good few people died, but many more of the afflicted survived yet left with…   
        an impaired constitution, let’s say. A sensitivity to other illnesses and physical injuries.   
        My mother was one of them.”

        “I see…” Lem said, having taken a swig of tea, “so you died in that plague.”

        “Oh goodness no, Lem King, that plague happened hundreds of years ago, I couldn’t possibly be _that_ old.”   
        Emmanuel grinned. “But the second one, when Tristero was killed, yes. Thankfully at this point Nacre   
        had more than made up for the lack of doctors from the days of the first plague. So many lives were saved. I was not.”

        “But why?” queried Lem, succumbing to his curiosity,  
        “Why go to the effort. I mean, if everyone would come back, then why try so hard to save them?”

Emmanuel rose, a sudden coolness weighing on him, and began to clear away the plates and cutlery used for breakfast.   
Lem followed suit, downing his tea and stacking the plates with a clatter, following Emmanuel into the kitchen.   
From the oven and the bannetons and the windowsill came the smell of bread, proving and baking and cooling,  
diffusing the air with the warmth of home. Emmanuel was filling the sink when he replied.

        “All stages of life are precious, Lem king. Surely there have been periods of your life where you have tried to resist change,   
        within yourself, no matter how fruitless. It is not so different, for me. The body does not age after its first death,   
        and for those who were mere children when they caught the plague, I am thankful that they could be saved,   
        and could live a long and pleasurable first life.”

        A comforting hand on his shoulder. Emmanuel turned and looked Lem in the face.

        “Even if I could not.”

        “I’m sorry.” Lem’s voice was soft, “I shouldn’t have said that it was… well, it was inconsiderate of me.”

        Emmanuel smiled. “Yes, it was. It’s okay, we’ll get you manners yet.”

        Lem smirked, “Says the one of us who was a pirate.”

        “I’m pretty sure that _you_ were the one who came after me with a sword.”

        “Well, you _were_ a _pirate…_ ”

And so they lapsed back into conversation, in a kitchen filled with the smell of baking bread.


	6. Chapter 6

LEM KING LEFT BY MIDDAY. Morning trade was always the busiest time for  
a bakery, people coming in to buy bread for breakfast, for the next few days. Emmanuel  
appreciated Lem’s help at this time as a sort of front of house, whilst the final loaves were cooling.  
He was a charming salesman who always seemed to know what people wanted, and provided swift yet friendly service.  
Yet as the numbers dwindled and Emmanuel was able to serve customers instead, Lem was able to go get ready for work. 

        The walk across town was hot but not unpleasant. The low clouds had cleared by this point and the sky was a bright,  
intense blue. The heat and humidity persisted, and against the bustle of the street you could hear the chirping of the cicadas  
and the whirring of the crickets. The streets were quiet, many people sheltering inside from the heat, with exception of building work,  
of the moving of materials to and fro, the rebuilding of the settlement. Lem reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cube-like device:  
a communications box, one of a pair of sympathetic objects. The other he had given to Hella, as she, Adaire and Fero  
had headed upriver to investigate the Isles of Flight. Lem clicked in a message as he walked: 

        QUIET MORNING

                PREPARATIONS FOR SAMOT’S ARRIVAL IN TOWN 

                        HAVE NOT TALKED MUCH WITH ANYONE RECENTLY 

                                HOPE THE JOURNEY IS GOING OKAY.

        Satisfied, he pocketed it and almost ran into an oncoming pedestrian. Having reached the central tower,   
there was a great more activity on the road, and more evidence of the anticipation of the dignitaries from Marielda.  
A market had sprung up overnight, punters spruiking salted fish and fresh vegetables grown outside the walls.  
Children were weaving large garlands and wreaths from bales of dried grasses. Soldiers from Corsica Neue’s Unstill  
stood watch from the perimeter, as dignitaries and clerks and members of Ephrim’s entourage hurried to and fro.  
Lem scanned the crowd for familiar faces: Rosanna or hadrian at the market, Throndiir amongst the guards,  
even Ephrim himself making an appearance. Of course, there was no one around. Shrugging his bag  
back on to his shoulder, Lem moved through the crowd to the other side of the square. 

        Meanwhile, Emmanuel absent-mindedly collected plates from a table. Most of his customers today were coming  
to get out of the heat, in the cool blue-grey of the bakery. Orders had mainly been for tea, cups of coffee, the occasional sandwich.  
A few halflings by the window engaged in animated discussion regarding the viability of a newspaper press.  
Two members of the unstill by the wall, tired after a long shift,drinking coffee and joking quietly.  
A mothkin sat up at the counter on a stool, a glass of water in front of them, presumably for drinking.  
Other human customers were dotted around, fanning themselves in the heat. Soon they would all be heading out  
for pubs or inns, or returning to work or to home to sleep or who knows. Emmanuel took the plates through to the kitchen.  
The oven burning low, a dry heat to cut through the steamy air. It was a slow day, a day for daydreaming,  
for small comforts and sleeping away the afternoon.There was always work to be done:  
rebuilding, healing, tending, strategising, cooking, meeting, talking, preparing.  
There was something special about these quiet moments, these long middays,  
slow moments for leisure, for drinking hot coffee and eating fresh bread.  



	7. Chapter 7

ORGANIZATIONAL SYSTEMS IN ORCISH LIBRARIES were, naturally,   
simultaneously complicated yet infinitely malleable. Books were sorted  
into distinct categories based on contents, age, author and rarity,  
yet the greater organizational structure of these categories within a hierarchy  
was constantly in flux, and even then the important factor within a category  
could change depending on the requirements of the Pattern. For example,  
you might need to move every book on furniture construction from the stacks  
to the second floor reading room, and reorganize them from chronological order  
into alphabetical order by names of specific furniture items, with the effect of making  
the reading room chairs more comfortable. In short, it was a lot of busy-work  
with very little noticeable impact, which suited Lem King well enough.  
The thing that did not suit him were his coworkers.  
They were fine, they were _ fine _ he told himself,   
as he entered the library from the main body of the trading house,  
only to come face to face with Karnash Orvaz. Karnash Orvaz had been  
a Semiotic Gardener back at The New Archives, and as such  
were tall and muscular from moving large sacks of earth and fertilizer,  
and their hands were always very slightly dirty. The very worst part, in Lem King's mind,  
was how painfully congenial they were. Karnash smiled a wide, friendly smile:  
“Mornin’ Lem, or, well I guess it’s afternoon now huh?”  
and offered him a large, slightly earthy looking hand. 

        “Hey, hi Karnash.” Lem shook hands with them, trying not to notice  
        the strength of their grip or the dirt on their fingers  
        “What’s um… what’re we doing today?” 

        “Assignment with transaction records, we need to file them throughout the library in specific locations,   
         it’ll take us uhhhh a good week to get it all in place?” Lem noticed then the thick yellow pages Karnash  
        was holding in one hand, that had also been messily slotted into specific gaps between the books behind  
        the front desk of the library (which today was a collection of ornithological texts from eastern Hieron).  
        “Go and talk to Quevo," Karnash continued, "She's up in philosophy, or at least, she should be.” 

Quevo Lordahan was the only other designated library staff member besides Lem and Karnash.   
She had been a Semiotic Architect in The New Archives, designing and building structures essential for specific patterns,  
through layout, an inhabitant's interaction with the space, and many other things. Lem was pretty sure she disliked him,  
but he never saw her outside of work so didn't know if glowering was just her temperament. At least she was quiet,  
and didn't try to engage Lem with long meandering stories about working in The Archive’s greenhouses. 

“Oh yeah, don’t forget these!” Said Karnash, dumping a large stack of forms in Lem’s arms,  
the weight nearly sending him staggering, “You can start up iiiiin Music Theory! That should be fun, right pal?”  
Karnash beamed, oblivious of Lem’s now barely concealed glare, “You like that sort of stuff, right?” 


	8. Chapter 8

EMMANUEL WAS WORKING ON ORDERS when he heard the shop’s bell ring out.   
He looked up, confused, from the pastry dough he was working on, as he hadn't heard the door open.   
The woman who stood there had dark skin, and a bearing that was instantly familiar.  
Her dark hair was done up in a complex braid carefully inlaid with pearls,   
and she didn't seem to notice the heat, despite being dressed all in black.   
She approached the counter slowly, leisurely. 

        “Your name is Emmanuel, is it not?”

        “That would be correct, O’ Blessed by the Far Seas”

        Adelaide chuckled, as if at some private joke.

        “Aren’t you going to ask why we’re here?

        “Not particularly, people usually come to bakeries with a very specific goal. What would you like?”

        She sat on a stool, legs off to one side,  elbow up on the counter, chin in hand, smiling an aloof smile at him.

        “For now, all we want is the pleasure of your company and conversation. Persuading lost souls   
        to reside in our domain is tiring, and we thought we could perhaps do with a reprieve before the coming storm.”

        “Is something going to happen?” Emmanuel was careful with his tone.   
        Speaking to royalty, in his experiences with Ephrim, was something of a careful game.

        She shrugged “Just a hunch. Do you have any apple tarts? We haven’t had the chance to eat since leaving Obadd.”

Emmanuel knew that there were no apples outside of Nacre, and that she knew this as well, and so wasn’t surprised to find   
the basket of fresh apples hanging amongst the herbs in the pantry. When he returned with them,   
she had a mug of black coffee besides her. The mug wasn’t one of his.   
He began peeling and cutting an apple into thin slices, laying them to one side.   
He mixed cinnamon and sugar in a pan with some butter over heat, adding the fruit.   
He finished the pastry then carefully decanted the contents into a pie dish and spread the pastry on top,   
then slid them into the oven. Adelaide watched him, quietly drinking her coffee. 

Emmanuel broke the silence. 

        “Why did you really come here?” 

She held out the empty cup, Emmanuel took it. 

        “When we were drawn into the sword and into isles of Obadd with Hella, Hadrian, Adaire and your boyfriend.”  
        She smirked “I… We placed all our subjects in a very tenuous position. We were not there to ensure that they  
        would survive anything that happened to them. The rules of death are… complicated. Our father  
        gave up his power over Hieron to save the people of Nacre and provide them with long life.  
        The counterbalance? Many died in a terrible plague. When I was gone, I did not know what  
        had became of my subjects, and I was almost willing to abdicate my duties entirely.   
        I was selfish, I did not want to know. 

        “And then Hella,” She paused, carefully wiping her mouth with a handkerchief   
        that had not been there before, “Brought me to my senses, and helped me return.   
        Since then I have been creating an afterlife for the newly dead, but I have also tried to seek out my subjects,   
        any vestiges from the Nacre I left behind,” Another pause, a sudden sadness settling over her,   
        “Many have not survived. Even within Ordenna’s quarantine of Nacre many have taken ill  
        and succumbed whilst we were gone. No lingering souls, no ghosts, no choice to move on.   
        That choice to die, it had become part of people's lives, their existence, and I broke it for my own desires.  
        All parts of life,” She turned back, looking Emmanuel in the eyes, “Are precious, and I took this for granted.   
        Not many of the citizenry of Nacre have survived, Emmanuel, and I regret it deeply.   
        But I am thankful that some, like you, are safe, are well, are happy.” 

Emmanuel moved towards the oven. He removed the dish, slid a plate over the tart, and deftly flipped it,   
carefully prizing the tin away from the pastry. He brought it to the counter, sprinkled it with more sugar,   
and placed it on the counter-top with a fork.   
Adelaide smiled, a sadder smile than all her previous. 

        “If you do not forgive me, I cannot blame you. Thank you for the tart. It smells delicious.”

She rose, taking the plate with the tart still steaming, the sugar on top slowly caramelizing, and walked towards the front door.   
Emmanuel looked down, and did not even hear the bell this time as she left. He thought of his mother, and of the bakery back in Nacre,   
the people he had escaped with, the tall dark man he remembered from his youth, and the Orc who found him with a face covered in flour,   
as the Ordennan military had begun to fire upon the city he had lived all his life in. 

Later that evening, when Hella would enter her cabin, worn out and sore after a day of navigating difficult terrain and working the rigging,   
she would find a small box on her bed. Inside would be half an apple tart, neatly cut, still warm.


	9. Chapter 9

THE SUN WAS SETTING when Lem finally returned, exhausted, from the library. Two hundred and thirty seven files,   
each needing to be in exactly the right place for a pattern he didn’t even know. Emmanuel had closed the bakery,   
and was sitting at the counter when the bell rang. He turned and smiled as Lem came over, and reached up and embraced him.

        “Hey, are you okay?” Lem’s sensed something was wrong, his voice tinged with concern.

        “Yeah I just got yelled at because I was late finishing off that order for lemon tart. I had to remake the pastry because of…   
        well, another urgent order came in at the last minute. It happens. How was work?”

        “I mean it was fine? Karnash went on and on about how he wanted to celebrate Samot’s arrival, talked as if they would be  
        instant best friends or some shit.”

        “Yeah. I was thinking I should probably make something special for the occasion?”

        “Lots of kids were making wreaths in town. Maybe you could make a braided loaf?”

         “Yeah, with raisins, and icing. That sounds nice.”

Lem smiled, and Emmanuel rested his head on his chest, happy that he wasn't being pushed about what was bothering him.

They made dinner toether that night. Lem carefully yet inefficiently plucked a bird that he insisted was sold to him as pheasant   
but was obviously duck for roasting, whilst Emmanuel made stuffing with some garlic, lemon juice, herbs, and leftover bread.   
He peeled some potatoes for boiling, rinsed lettuce, and sliced carrots, cucumbers and some of the apples left by Adelaide.   
Lem, having declared that he would make bread and butter pudding for Emmanuel, was busy buttering far more bread than would fit   
into any of Emmanuel’s pans. Between the two of them they somehow managed it though, and slid it in besides the boiling pot of water,   
under the duck that Emmanuel was slowly turning. At one point Lem produced a bottle of wine from somewhere, and when the food was done   
they took it all up to their small rooms above the bakery, drinking and talking and laughing late into the night. Emmanuel listened as Lem,   
now quite drunk, retold the story of the robbery from the New Old Museum, and of how he had held off an Ordennan force all by himself with only a guitar.   
Eventually though, Emmanuel knew he needed to sleep if he was to get up in time to open the bakery tomorrow.   
He undressed and washed himself as Lem climbed into bed behind him. He extinguished all the candles, and climbed in next to him.   
In the darkness, he placed his hand on Lem’s cheek, and quietly whispered something. Lem shifted in place, already drifting off, and mumbled his response,   
and Emmanuel pressed himself into his chest, listening to Lem's   
heartbeat, the tempo to some unheard score,   
and found himself drifting off as well. 

There was still room,   
Emmanuel thought,   
for change,   
for things   
to get better.   
Living was still difficult,   
and who knew what problems  
tomorrow would bring.   


But here,   
right now   
was enough.   
This was enough. 


End file.
